


hyung

by dimsum



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimsum/pseuds/dimsum
Summary: “What year was Mark born?” asks Renjun.“1999,” crunches Donghyuck through a mouthful of cereal. “Why?”





	hyung

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to mel for beta-ing, and to my wonderful wisbands nat + sol for looking this over for me!

It all comes down to culture shock, he should say. Huang Renjun, newly accepted into SM and uprooted from his entire life back in China. Mark Lee, born and raised in the West, with a thick Canadian accent to boot. Three distinct cultures mixing together was bound to make things a little messy.

In reality, it’s because Mark speaks first and thinks after the fact, and because Renjun is not used to people who are so unaware of their own _weirdness. _Maybe weirdness is unfair — Mark grew up with a different set of social cues, and things are always different in the West — but still:

What kind of person says “you’re old” the first time they meet someone?

The lineup is close to being finalized — he came in at a good time, they tell him after the big congratulations. The five male SM Rookies around his age, and him. There’s wiggle room for additions and subtractions, they say with a meaningful glance, but for the most part, this is it — the DREAM unit of SM’s new scheme for global domination, or whatever.

And Renjun will be the first to say he worked hard for it, chased his dream with all the hunger and ambition he held in the skinny frame of his preteen body, but he’ll also admit he didn’t sell his soul to the Korean entertainment industry nearly as early as the other five. They’ve been together for years; he’s the clear outsider. He doesn’t expect his introduction into the group to be seamless, but he also doesn’t expect it to go like this:

The vocal trainer brings him to the room where the other boys are waiting, interrupting their jokes and horseplay with a firm, “I have someone new to introduce to you.”

Five pairs of eyes immediately glance off of her to _him, _and it’s all Renjun can do not to shrink into himself. With a nudge from the trainer, he splutters out a “Hi, my name is Huang Renjun. Please take care of me.”

One boy, a few steps in front of the rest, keeps looking at Renjun — the rest all shift their gazes to him. It’s almost subconscious, ingrained. He’s the leader, Renjun realizes, officially or not. Their deference to him is wolflike — he’d laugh at how they all wait for him with bated breath if he weren’t petrified in anticipation of what’s about to come out of this boy’s mouth himself.

It’s another few seconds of silent staring before the boy parts his lips and Renjun thinks, _this is it. _

“You’re… old.”

Renjun blinks, at a loss. An introduction would’ve been nice.

The boy flushes pink under Renjun’s slack-jawed stare; whether it’s from the silence or a sudden realization of the implications of his first impression, Renjun doesn’t know. He opens his mouth again, maybe to rectify the situation, but Renjun will never know what he meant to say because one of the other boys cuts him off with a cackle.

“You’re old!” he laughs, elbowing the first boy, the blushing one, in the side. “Mark-hyung, can you get any weirder? At least introduce yourself like a normal person, geez.”

The tension sloughs off Renjun like water as the other boys crack smiles, too. The boy who’d laughed turns back to him, eyes bright. “I’m Lee Donghyuck,” he says with a slight nod. They’re two strangers still, unaware of where they stand with each other. Renjun tips his head back. “Nice to meet you, Renjun-ssi.”

The rest of the boys shrug off whatever predetermined order they had and all introduce themselves out of turn, bulldozing over the first boy. He’s lost the chance they gave him, and Renjun quickly learns how superficial this hierarchy really is. He makes the acquaintances of Jaemin, Jisung, and Jeno, in that order.

He doesn’t catch the first boy’s name until the very end, once the vocal trainer gets fed up with their antics and sends them off to practice separately while he starts with Donghyuck. The boy says it quick and breathy, expression struggling between thoughtfulness and the last remnants of embarrassment. “I’m Mark Lee.”

_Foreign, _Renjun thinks. He doesn’t get the chance to think too hard about it before he’s being pulled out by another adult to only God knows where, leaving Mark Lee and all his strangeness behind.

Theoretically, it should be easier for him to adapt. He went to Korean Saturday school growing up, after all. His control of the language far outpaces that of any other Chinese trainee, even Sicheng, and Sicheng’s been here _forever. _

Speaking of Sicheng — they’re three years apart in age, less if you count the months. The first time they meet, they hit it off immediately, jabbering back and forth in rapid-fire Mandarin that rolls off Renjun’s tongue as easy as breathing. Then Renjun gets introduced to the rest of the older male trainees, and proudly, he declares, “I’ve already met Sicheng.”

The trainer’s eyes flash at him dangerously. Before Renjun has time to panic over what he could’ve possibly done wrong, Sicheng gives him a gentle nudge and leans down to whisper in his ear, “Don’t forget the _hyung._”

Renjun’s face burns hot with shame at his slip-up. Reading about honorifics in a textbook is one thing, but actually using them is another, and herein lies the real learning curve. He’s used to tacking on an _idiot _to the names of his senior friends at school, not… _ge. _

“Sorry, I meant Sicheng-hyung,” he says quickly, before anyone else can call him out on his mistake.

One of the trainees, Johnny, he later learns, laughs. “It’s okay,” he says with the slightest accent, patting Renjun’s shoulder lightly. “It’s hard to get used to it at first.”

Renjun doesn’t know if he should be grateful or not. His mistake is forgiven, but at what cost? He’s already been marked as the newcomer, and now his only chance at escaping the neon-light label of ‘foreigner!’ has been stripped away from him. He’d almost prefer it if they’d chastised him like they would any native speaker.

It’s one thing to be from China — it’s another thing to be so clearly Chinese in a sea of Koreans.

No one’s been able to throw off the label yet — not Sicheng, not Kun, who’s been here even longer — and Renjun isn’t so naive as to hope that people won’t treat him differently because of it.

And that, Renjun reasons, is why Mark called him old when they first met. Because Renjun is Chinese, and as such must not be familiar with Korean manners, right? No one else would take this kind of treatment from a dongsaeng, but Renjun must be so unaware.

He wonders, at first, why Mark is their de facto leader if he’s younger. It’s not unheard of for elder members to step down from the position, but none of the boys Renjun’s age are particularly unequipped for it.

It’s not until a grueling dance practice, one that leaves all their legs wobbly, that he begins to realize. As they get ready to crawl back to the dorms, Renjun’s mind already filled with thoughts of dinner and sleep, Mark asks Jeno and Jaemin to stay behind and perfect part of their routine with him.

‘Ask’ isn’t really the right word — it’s more like he poses the idea to them with the confidence that they won’t reject him. His authority over them is tangible, and Renjun wonders how teen boys their age can stand to be lectured by someone younger than them. Jeno and Jaemin don’t even look resentful, though. They agree in unison, and Mark nods like he wasn’t expecting any other answer.

Donghyuck and Jisung rush out of the rooms hot on the heels of their dance teacher, the echoes of their speculations about tonight’s dinner menu bouncing off the walls, but Renjun takes his time. He watches Mark help Jaemin stretch out before they start dancing again, and suddenly he pities this boy, who’s so young but already bears the full burden of leading their group. He cares deeply for his members, and they care for him too — Renjun’s hit with a sudden longing to be close to them too.

Resolute in his wish to be a good groupmate, he puts on his best smile. “Mark, Jeno, Jaemin,” he calls to them, right before he leaves. “Good luck with practicing! Don’t push yourselves too hard and make sure you get dinner later, okay?”

Jaemin’s “okay, Renjunnie,” and Jeno’s soft smile are nothing out of the ordinary, but Renjun almost flinches when Mark whips his head up to look at him, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set in a hard line that makes Renjun wonder what he said wrong. Too scared to ask, he slips out of the room, power-walking down the hall and refusing to look back until he hears the first notes of the song play out of the room’s speakers.

He’s scrapped the idea that Mark is unfriendly with the foreigners, and has now come to the conclusion that Mark is just unfriendly to him in particular.

He doesn’t understand _why_, though_. _When they’re with the older trainees, all of whom Renjun remembers to call _hyung, _Mark just purses his lips every time Renjun lets the honorific roll off his tongue. Mark has no trouble calling anyone else hyung — he loves pinching Sicheng’s cheeks with a whiny “Winwin-hyung” — but not once has he called Renjun hyung.

Renjun has no idea what he did to arouse this boy’s ire. The idea of anyone disliking him enough to be purposely rude to him, especially one of his own members, churns in his stomach like spoiled milk. The fact that it’s Mark just makes it worse. Renjun gets the feeling SM’s golden boy, loved by hyungs and dongsaengs alike, is not someone you want to piss off.

He tries, he really does. Everyday, he makes sure to greet Mark with a cheerful, “good morning, Mark!” and everyday Mark’s expression grows darker.

He tells himself it doesn’t hurt to see Mark smile at everyone else and then immediately frown when he sees Renjun. He shoves down the urge to just shake Mark by the shoulders and ask _why, what did I do wrong?_

Because from the look on Mark’s face every time he sees him, he doesn’t think he’d get a good answer.

It’s by accident that he catches the tail end of a whispered exchange between Mark and Donghyuck. Everyone else has gone to sleep already, and Renjun’s coming back from brushing his teeth when he hears his name said in a low hiss.

He nearly trips over himself trying to stop before he turns the corner, pressing himself to the wall. Mark seems… agitated. Donghyuck’s voice is level and carries a placating honey to it that Renjun hasn’t heard before.

“Don’t tell me it’s because he’s foreign,” Mark says. “He has no trouble using the right honorifics with anyone else.”

Renjun strains his ears to catch Donghyuck’s murmur. “I really don’t think Renjun has it out for you. It’s probably just a misunderstanding. Have you tried asking him about it?” Renjun flinches. Him? Antagonizing Mark? If anything, it’s the other way around.

Immediately, Mark replies, “I don’t wanna confront him! If he’s being rude on purpose, me asking him about it isn’t gonna do anything.”

“I still think you should ask,” says Donghyuck, tone firm. “Renjun’s a nice guy. I doubt he hates you.”

Mark grumbles, noncommittal. Renjun waits for the sound of their footsteps to fade before he dares to breathe again. The prickling on the back of neck grows colder, and he gets the feeling that something isn’t right here.

By some luck, Renjun manages to catch Donghyuck alone in the kitchen the next morning. “Donghyuckie,” he calls out, because he’s allowed to be casual with him like that; they’d established they were same-age friends the day they met.

Donghyuck looks up from the bowl of cereal he’s nursing. “Good morning, Renjun.”

“I have a question,” he says, taking the seat next to Donghyuck.

“Shoot.”

Renjun steels himself and asks, “What year was Mark born?”

“1999,” crunches Donghyuck through a mouthful of cereal. “Why?”

Suddenly, everything is so clear: why Mark takes on his leadership so well, why he calls the others _hyung _but not Renjun, why — Renjun’s stomach drops to the floor. Mark is _older _than him. And Renjun’s been calling him just plain Mark this entire time.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh my god.”

Donghyuck snorts. “Don’t tell me you thought he was younger than us.”

“I thought he was born in 2001,” says Renjun in the smallest voice he can manage.

“Oh my god,” laughs Donghyuck. “Did you not hear me all the times I called him Mark-hyung? Jaemin and Jeno, too.”

Renjun didn’t. He really didn’t notice, and now he feels horribly rude. If his mom were here, she’d smack him and call him mannerless. No wonder Mark seems so mad at him all the time – he has every right to be. Renjun buries his head in his hands and tries not to think about how hot his ears are. “Oh no.”

Donghyuck laughs again, and Renjun wants nothing more than to cease existing.

When they’re filing out of the practice room today, with Mark under strict orders to make sure they stop dancing and eat before 9, Renjun drops to the back of the line and waits for everyone to go out first.

Mark holds the door open for everyone. Once everyone’s out except Renjun, who’s standing on the threshold, his expression seems to shift, morphing into a mix of disappointment and resignation. Renjun’s stomach twists.

He lowers his gaze, not daring to meet Mark’s eyes out of shame. “Sorry, Mark-hyung,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting – Mark to demand an explanation, maybe, or say something like “you’d better be.” What he gets instead is a half-laugh, abrupt but amused. Renjun jerks his head back up.

It’s a shock to see Mark’s radiant smile directed at _him, _for once. His eyes are knowing, and Renjun almost melts in relief. “It’s okay, Renjunnie,” he says, slinging an arm around Renjun’s shoulders. It’s all Renjun can do not to shake; Mark’s never been this close before, warm body pressing against his and cradling him like they’re best friends instead of a misfit hyung-dongsaeng pair. “Let’s go get dinner, okay?”

“What made you think I was younger than you, anyways?”

“You called me old the first time we met, hyung. What was I supposed to think?”

He adapts quickly to their new dynamic of Mark being the older one, being his hyung. It’s easier than he thought it would be — everything just seems to make sense now. Mark fits in seamlessly as the leader, Renjun as second oldest, and the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Over time, he learns two things related to his use of the honorific for Mark. One, the exact pitch and tone to say it in to make Mark squirm in his seat, to Renjun’s absolute delight.

Two, how pretty Mark looks when he’s blushing after Renjun coaxes it out of him with a whine and a cheshire grin.

(There’s a third thing, actually — the rush of satisfaction Renjun gets when he’s the one who manages to put that blush on Mark’s face. Renjun doesn’t find it worth mentioning, though.)

He saves it for when they’re alone, though. On broadcast it’s very strict — Renjun cuts clear his relationship with each member, sharp definitions with little wiggle room. It makes it easier for everyone. Ambiguity’s not his style, and he’s not about to be anything but direct. It’s only back home that the lines start to blur.

And if Renjun said he liked keeping that specific subset of Mark’s blushes to himself, it wouldn’t be a lie.

After Chenle and Jisung go to bed (or claim to — they’re probably still up playing PUBG), Mark brings out the bottle of soju he’d snuck into the dorm while the managers weren’t looking. Donghyuck whistles. “Ooh, naughty, Mark-hyung.”

Mark blushes, bright like the peaches Chenle had forced them to eat after dinner. Renjun wonders curiously at his pinkened cheeks; they haven’t even started drinking yet. “Do you want any or not?”

“Hey,” says Donghyuck sharply, “I never said I was opposed to free alcohol. What’s the occasion, though? I don’t think a goody-two-shoes like you would break the rules like that for no reason.”

Mark stares at the bottle in his hands, finally giving them a shrug. “Successful promotions,” he says, blithely. He rolls the bottle around so the back label is facing him, and Renjun wonders what’s so interesting about a list of ingredients. “We should celebrate, you know. I’m turning twenty this year anyways.”

The thought is oddly sobering — Mark turns twenty, and they all know what happens after that. Something crawls up Renjun’s throat, cloying and ugly. He’d laugh at Mark’s persistent gift for killing the mood if even Donghyuck didn’t look so solemn.

It’s too much for him to bear. He sticks out a hand suddenly, startling the others out of their wallowing. “Hand it over,” he commands.

Mark, dumbly, passes him the bottle.

In the back of his mind, there’s a little responsible part that says to get cups to share. Renjun shoves that away and breaks the seal on the bottle. When the mouth of the bottle rests against his bottom lip, there’s a moment of hesitation where he doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for, but then Mark’s eyes lock onto his and Renjun stops thinking. He tips the liquid into his mouth.

It’s disgusting in a way that makes it almost impossible to stop drinking, washing his mouth with the taste over and over in the hopes that it’ll eventually become numb. He’d drink the whole thing if they’d let him — a perverse sense of satisfaction clouds his head when he sees the bottle’s only a quarter full now after Donghyuck rips it away. “Save some for the rest of us!”

“Wow, Injunnie, didn’t know you were a closet drinker,” remarks Jaemin, surface levity belying something heavy in his words. Renjun doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, though — everything is so much warmer now. Jaemin’s smile seems to pull tight at the edges, teeth sharper, sharp like shark’s teeth, and wow, he didn’t have _that _much soju.

Mark looks at him with an expression that he can’t decipher, and the heat in his head shoots straight to his gut. It coils and writhes, refusing to calm down even when Mark looks away. “Guys, chill, I brought a whole pack.”

It’s good he says it before anyone starts drinking from Renjun’s bottle. Donghyuck claims a new bottle for himself, tucking Renjun’s behind his back as he pops the seal. “I’m confiscating this for now,” he says, stern. “Go drink some water and then come back.”

Renjun lets out a whine, unrepentant in his haze. His tolerance isn’t that low — the alcohol isn’t that strong — is it? He swears it takes more than a bottle of soju to get him like this; maybe it’s something in the air. His legs are far too unreliable at this stage, though, for him to try and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water. He lets himself slump on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark, surprisingly enough, doesn’t stiffen up like usual. It’s almost like he expects it from the way he braces himself under Renjun’s weight, shifting ever so slightly so his head is resting in the curve of his shoulder. Renjun moves with him when he leans forward to pull a bottle from the cardboard carrier sitting in the middle of their circle.

“Hyung,” says Renjun, dragging the sound out low and guttural from the bottom of his diaphragm. Mark chokes on a mouthful of liquid; Renjun pushes on over his coughing sounds. “_Hyung. _Where did you get the soju from? It’s good.”

Mark regains his composure quickly. “That’s a secret,” he says. His voice swirls around in Renjun’s head, smooth like honey and almost as sticky.

“Hyung,” Renjun mewls, “Mark-hyung, why won’t you tell me, hyung?”

“I know you’re just trying to blackmail me, Injunnie,” replies Mark, a laugh hidden in the layers of his voice. The pet name sends a bolt zinging up Renjun’s spine. He represses the shiver that threatens to quake his whole body.

Blindly, he sticks out an arm and finds the neck of a bottle pressed into his hand, glass cool and smooth against his burning palms. Donghyuck must’ve given up on trying to keep him in pseudo-time out. The little that’s left in the bottle slips down his throat easily, and no one stops him from reaching for another one.

It’s a while before Renjun realizes that he and Mark are the only ones left in the living room. Really, it’s not until Donghyuck pushes himself up off the carpet with a mumbled “I’m not drunk enough for this shit” that he notices Jeno and Jaemin’s spots have been empty for a while. Mark nurses his drink, the liquid line still above the bottle’s label. He takes small sips, careful and measured.

He’s been so quiet today, glimpses of introspection flickering in his eyes before fading to leave deep brown behind. Mark’s eyes are beautiful, Renjun thinks. They’re capable of showing so much emotion; they give Mark away before his mouth can. Renjun especially likes them when they’re smiling at him, with the fond glimmer that Mark always looks at him with nowadays.

“You think so?” asks Mark, a smile in his voice. Renjun blinks. Had he said that aloud in his not-quite-drunken stupor?

“Yes, you did.” Renjun feels a sudden urge to cry tears that won’t come, half out of frustration with himself, half because of the simple fact that Mark is always so patient with him. “I think you should stop drinking now, though.”

“Maybe,” Renjun mumbles back, polishing off his second bottle and throwing it carelessly onto the carpet. He’d neglected to put the cap back on — if the last drops at the bottom leak out and stain the carpet, their manager will give him hell — but he can’t be bothered to care right now.

“Hyung,” he says, for no reason at all; he rolls the honorific around in his mouth, liking the way the vowel rounds out. He feels Mark stiffen just slightly, and giggles. “Mark-hyung. Sounds so nice, just like you.”

“You’re a little brat, aren’t you?” Mark says, tone heavy with something Renjun can’t identify. Renjun wrinkles his nose, the aftereffects of the soju mixing into his confusion.

“What do you mean by that?” he asks, slurring unintelligibly.

Somehow, Mark understands him. “Nothing,” he says, the extra layer in his voice now nowhere to be found. “Let’s go to sleep, Injunnie. It’s late.”

Renjun will be the first to admit that yes, he is in touch with his emotions enough to let himself cry sometimes. Their “My First and Last” encore was not the first time he cried in public, and it definitely won’t be the last.

Right now isn’t really a time for crying, though. More like the after-cry, when your throat is sore and your face hurts but your eyes are dry. They did their crying earlier. Lots of it.

Now Renjun just feels hollowed out.

The clock reaches hands towards midnight as Mark says his final goodbyes. They’ll see each other tomorrow, but it’ll be different. Tomorrow, DREAM will be six, and there will be one less thread connecting Mark to Renjun.

Donghyuck had asked to spend the night in their dorm, which the manager had grudgingly allowed, but one look in Mark’s direction had stopped him from asking, if he even wanted to. Expediting the process, Renjun thinks bitterly.

So they’re saying their goodbyes now.

It passes through Renjun’s vision in brief flashes — he catches glimpses of Jisung hiding his face in Mark’s shirt, Chenle throwing his arms around Mark and squeezing tight — but mostly he focuses on the feeling of Jaemin’s arm around his shoulders, Jeno’s hand against the small of his back. When even those are gone, the ghost of comfort leaving a sense of emptiness behind, only then does Renjun look up.

Mark smiles, a different light in his eyes. Everyone else has left, to their rooms or somewhere else. Even the manager is gone, surely just behind the door, but to Renjun it’s as if he doesn’t exist in this moment. The passing down of the torch is something they respect enough to leave alone, and Renjun appreciates it.

Mark clears his throat. Renjun waits for a lecture, Mark-style — take care of the kids, don’t choke them too often — but Mark lets out a breath, cutting off whatever he was going to say. He throws his arms around Renjun instead.

Seconds tick by as he stands stock still. Belatedly, Renjun reaches up to hug him back, scared that Mark will let go if he’s not fast enough, but Mark just squeezes tighter. As if he knows.

Because for them, this is the best — the only — comfort Mark can offer him.

Although Renjun’s not sure who’s really doing the comforting between the two of them. Mark seems so small in this moment, like he’s the one being held by Renjun. He tucks his head into the crook of Renjun’s shoulder, breath warm and fanning across his skin.

“Take care,” he whispers.

The effect is knee-jerk fast. It’s as if seeds drop into Renjun’s throat, sprouting into ugly vines that choke him from the inside. Pain sears through his chest. He doesn’t know how you can miss someone when they’re right in front of you, but longing has already sunk its gnarly tendrils into his heart.

He can’t breathe when he whispers back, “Good luck, Mark.”

Mark chokes out a laugh. Renjun pales — even now, he still slips up. They’ve come full circle. “Wait, I meant—”

“It’s alright, Renjun.” He pats the small of Renjun’s back, two light touches. Slowly, they disentangle. The phantom feeling of Mark lingers on Renjun’s skin, and he hugs himself as a replacement. Mark’s still smiling, all the unspoken words between them written into the lines of his eyes. If Renjun blinks, he can almost see, just for a moment, the broken string that connected them starting to reform. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

Renjun smiles back, small but sure. “Yeah, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey so what the fuck is idolverse anyways


End file.
